BURNING TOUCH | mike faist

|steep surfaces - four|

The echos in the small, empty house were enough to drive me insane, nevermind the endless loneliness that came with parents rarely coming home from work. I could barely take it anymore.

I walked from the small kitchen to my bedroom, the last room on the left down the hall. Opening my bedroom window, I climbed out onto my window sill. I gripped the edge of my roof and boosted myself up. I climbed, careful not to slip or lose my balance. I found a comfortable position that wouldn't get me killed.

I used my roof as an escape from my thoughts, but it usually just made my thoughts louder in my head. Like an itch that can never be thoroughly scratched, a hunger that can never be fulfilled, a thirst that can never be quenched. It wasn't painful, more uncomfortable. An inconvenience, you could say. But sometimes my thoughts get louder, louder than I can handle. It gets worse the longer I ignore it. Like trying to mute screaming with headphones, but the headphones just block out everything but the screaming. However, there are ways I can quiet the noise, like writing my thoughts in a notebook. Or playing Those Magic Changes on my ukulele, but that only quiets my thoughts, it doesn't get rid of it in its entirety. The noise has only stopped completely twice. It has only stopped when I'm with one person in particular.

Hate to say that I'm lonely, but it's true.

It was still dark out, maybe 11:32 pm. But my parents never came home, so I didn't have to worry about anything. I usually fell asleep on my roof. I decided I was bored and went back inside to grab my ukulele. I climbed back up the steep surface. With only one hand to grip, I lost my balance.

I

fell.

I heard a crack and my collar bone felt numb. I had fallen on my back.

huh.

steep surfaces.